


4 (Extremely Condensed) Lessons of Vivec for the Average Stupid Nerevarine

by red_rook



Series: The Trials of Vivec [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Multi, Sexual Humor, i suck ass at explaining lore, sometimes i think the 36 lessons only exists because MK wanted to talk about dicks, vivec is overly pretentious because he's an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_rook/pseuds/red_rook
Summary: Post-Tribunal Vivec finds the Nerevarine, who's pretty depressed because he has nothing to do anymore. They go on a rampage of sex and murder and wacky hijinks because that's Vivec's thing. Also CHIM discussions which I suck at honestly just skip the CHIM discussions.





	1. Chapter 1

For someone regarded as being among the finest and most powerful on Tamriel, the Nerevarine was surprisingly easy to find. All it had taken was a little gold to loosen a few tongues here and there to find out that the Nerevarine had taken command of a skiff and, while drunk in a cornerclub, had proclaimed he was on a trip to Akavir. One of the Camonna Tong had even helpfully pointed out which direction the Nerevarine had been heading, though it wasn’t as if he needed the information. He could _sense_ the Incarnate’s power, a fiery chaotic aura quite like his namesake’s.

    So on a dreary, misty dawn the Warrior-Poet found the Dark Elf toiling away at the skiff. He appeared to be re-tarring it. _Idiot._ As if a petty skiff that hadn’t even been tarred properly would be enough to get from an entire continent to another.  

    The Incarnate looked up before Vehk could speak. He watched as the Elf’s hackles immediately rose, one hand drifting to Trueflame.

    “It’s you,” he said simply, and Vehk raised an eyebrow. He thought he’d disguised himself well. He’d placed himself back in the body that Vehk the mortal had had at nineteen, the binds of thick coiled muscles replaced by a lean lithe frame branching out to slender artist’s hands. His new- old?- body made him think of simpler times, when he spent lazy days stretched out along a grimy street corner, puffing away at a shitty old pipe he’d carved himself, dreaming of grandeur.

    “Don’t you think I look a little more handsome now?” Vehk responded lightly. The Nerevarine let out a sound that seemed to be a mix of a disgusted snort and a laugh. “But more importantly, how did you know it was me?”

    “It’s obvious from the gods-awful hairstyle,” he jibed. Then, a little quieter, “I knew you’d come looking for me at some point.”

    “That’s a rather odd conclusion to make.”

    “Is it? Almalexia is dead. Sotha Sil is dead. Your god-powers are gone. There’s nothing else but me left for you here anymore, is there?”

    “Gold,” replied Vehk idly. “A lover. Many lovers. A fortune’s worth of Telvanni bug musk.”

    “Well, you won’t be finding any of it with me,” the Incarnate responded, nettled. (Vehk smirked at that.) “Apologies for that. Still, I knew you’d come for me. I’m all you have left of your past.”

    Vehk watched the Nerevarine speak with fascination. The Dunmer was nearly the spitting image of Indoril Nerevar. Straight, narrow nose, lofty cheekbones that sloped down to a rounded jaw. The individual features did not make for anything more than a moderately attractive face, but on Nerevar and his reincarnation they came together to form a rugged handsomeness. Obviously. There was no such thing as an ugly Hortator. The Nerevarine had thicker eyebrows and darker, angrier, eyes, but the Padomaic fire that burned in his and in Nerevar’s was the same.

    How he could have ever been so blinded by shame and despair to not see it immediately was beyond him.

    “...So, you aren’t coming with me,” the Nerevarine finished, and Vehk realized that he’d completely tuned him out. Still, he was offended.

    “Why on Nirn not?”

    “You’re just an old man. Woman. Whatever. I don’t owe you anything. Remember how you tried to kill me? Sometimes I still feel the bruises.”

“Do you even know where _you’re_ going? I certainly hope you aren’t stupid enough to actually be going to Akavir. With _that_ boat, you wouldn’t even make it to Akavir to get slaughtered by snake-men-vampires.”

This gave the Dunmer pause. He studied his gauntlets for a moment before answering. “Morrowind no longer needs me. I don’t want to fade away on this miserable island until the Daedra take me. So, hell, why not Akavir? At least I’ll die interestingly there.” Another pause. “I’m not afraid to die.”

    Vehk smiled patronizingly at him, impressively irritating on a nineteen-year-old’s face. “That’s good. It will help you to die more easily. It will not, however, help you to live. How about a better idea? We can help each other.”

    At the last sentence, the Nerevarine perked up. “Help each other, how?”

    “I need to… make amends,” Vehk explained carefully. “Help me do that. And, in return, along the way I’ll teach you the secrets to power the magnitude of which you’ve never seen or heard of. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?”

    “You could also be trying to trick and murder me,” he pointed out.

    “Yes, but why on Nirn would I do that? I don’t kill people for no reason, you know. I’d much rather settle down in a nice warm bath, wouldn’t you?”

    “Well, if that’s what we’re going to be doing, I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” the Nerevarine responded, a little uncertainly. For the first time, he let go of Trueflame, which Vehk had been quite obviously eyeing uneasily.

    “Too bad!” Vehk crowed. “It’s going to be much more unpleasant. Let’s go on an adventure, eh?”


	2. "Pomegranate Banquet"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vehk makes his first amend. The Nerevarine, obviously, does all the work

In a week’s time they had reached the mainland of Morrowind, just a little south of Mournhold where the saltrice farms grew aplenty under the command of House Dres. Vehk had also insisted on changing the Nerevarine’s appearance, namely turning his hair an extravagant hot pink.

“A brilliant disguise,” Vehk proclaimed proudly as the Incarnate looked at him in disbelief. “Listen, it’s true I definitely have more enemies than you do, but you’ve pissed off plenty of people yourself. It’s best to lay low in these troubled times.”

“How is THIS-” the Nerevarine gesticulated towards his poor hair- “laying low?”

“I swear on my honor it will work fabulously. Nobody will suspect a thing.”

And indeed, along the long trek across the region from tiny township to township, nobody even seemed to notice them, apart from simple exchanges of greetings. The Bosmer farmer, who was the target of Vehk’s first amend, was the same way, only reacting with pleasant surprise when Vehk offered their services to him.   

“What’d you do to this guy, anyway?” the Nerevarine asked Vehk as the farmer directed  them towards his saltrice fields to spread muck across the crops.

“When I was young, I would always steal saltrice from his ancestor’s lands. Having said that, this place has really gone downhill. Such terrible mismanagement. Back when I was fourteen only the best thieves and gangs would have the nerve to steal from this place, it was crawling with attack guar around every corner. Now, nothing’s around to protect the fields. I could just pick up a bushel and stroll leisurely out of here.”

“Attack guar?”

“Weren’t you a prisoner before the Emperor manipulated you into a Hero? Surely you must have seen them before if you were a Thief. Nasty things, with thick spiny chitin armor that could put a thief out of commission for months.” Vehk levitated himself into the air, and then lounged back as if on an invisible sofa. “Anyway, have fun.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one making amends?” The Nerevarine glared at him. “I’m only here for the so-called power beyond any vestiges of imagination that you promised.”

Vehk theatrically flung an arm back and placed his other hand on his chest. “Becoming mortal has drained my strengths, the endurance I need to perform such arduous work. I beseech you, noble Nerevarine, to aid this suffering soul.”

“...Fine. But only because I have nothing better to do.” With a groan, the Nerevarine began to shovel muck and unceremoniously dump it on the fields.

Vehk smiled prettily and took out a pipe to smoke. “Take off all that armor while you’re at it; I’d like something to look at.”

The Incarnate’s only response was a murderous glare. As the hours ticked by, Vehk began to alternate between composing poems out loud and singing sea shanties he had learned from laying with the fishermen by Khuul, until the Nerevarine begged him desperately to stop.

At some point, right when Vehk had produced a particularly fascinating smoke cloud, the Nerevarine looked up at him meaningfully, as if he’d just had an epiphany.

“So you grew up in Mournhold?”

“Indeed. Well, the mortal version of me did. I grew up in the streets with my own little gang. We stole for money and whored for fun. The whoring certainly supplemented our income though.” Vehk chuckled. “The patrons always liked me best. I could do them much better than a bored wife or husband could.”

“But what about your parents? I don’t imagine that they would have been alright with their teenage child being, well, a prostitute thief.”

“Didn’t have any.” Vehk was silent for a long moment. “Died in an accident with a couple of bull netch, if I recall. Rather unpleasant way to go, I’d imagine.”

The Incarnate stopped shoveling for a minute, clearly regretting the conversation’s turn. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled abashedly.

“Don’t be. They died thousands and thousands of years ago. It certainly doesn’t bother me anymore.” The Dunmer went back to working in silence, as the poet watched with a distant smile.

After a while, Vehk managed to get his wish when the damp heat caused by hard labor proved to be too overwhelming for the Nerevarine. He clapped as the Nerevarine methodically stripped off his pauldrons, cuirass, gauntlets, and greaves until he was left in simple netch-leather pants.

“Doesn’t it feel much better now?” the once-god asked, triumphantly.

“I feel… exposed,” the Dark Elf complained. “Isn’t there any faster way of doing this?”

“No; that’s the point. Those who want to achieve limitless power must first understand the importance of submission. You must take, in this case, the literal shit, in order to reap the benefits in life. Similarly to how I once submitted to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal after he seduced me, though I must say the experience was far more... titillating... than what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I remember that. I skimmed through a few of those lessons. 36 Lessons of Vivec, right?”

“37, actually,” Vehk responded, affronted. “Perhaps if you’d been a little more scholarly and read them all _properly_ , we wouldn’t even need to be here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Blithely ignoring him, Vehk continued. “As a Dark Elf yourself, you must have seen by now how our people subject ourselves to trials and torture the likes of which could never be withstood by some of the weaker races. The House of Troubles represents obstacles we must learn to overcome. By giving ourselves up to them, we let them cut us into better shapes. By allowing them to harm us, we learn how to become unharmed.

Life itself is a series of obstacles to be overcome in the hopes that it will cut us into disciplined forms. But first you must submit to the will of others and thus learn to control yourself.”

During Vehk’s speech, the Nerevarine had attempted to use Telekinesis on the rickety old crates of muck, only to watch with horror as the crates finally broke, able to hold their burden no longer. Vehk shot up higher into the air to avoid the shit avalanche, but was otherwise content to watch the Dark Elf below him struggle. Amid a string of curse words, the Nerevarine emerged. He made a sprint for a nearby stream feeding the saltrice and plunged in. When the sun began to set he returned to Vehk, who had produced a bottle of the Telvanni’s finest bug musk and was steadily applying it to himself.

“Let’s go, champion of Azura,” Vehk grinned. “If we stay any longer I fear the farmer may come and find what you’ve done to his paltry fields.” He offered a scented hand, which the Nerevarine took after a moment of deliberation.

Vehk spirited them away to an outpost nearby where they could get some sleep and, in his own words, ‘so you can finish hosing that thrice-cursed muck off of you. I can’t stand being near an example of such an appalling lack of self-care.’

When they had comfortably situated themselves in a room (Vehk had taken the bed), the Nerevarine miserably curled up in a corner. He was still shirtless.

“I must say,” Vehk remarked suddenly, “there is something you have that your predecessor never quite did.”

“What is it?”

“You’re a little more muscular. Particularly in the ab region. Did you learn how to carve your body like that in prison? Did a lover there teach you?”

“I can’t believe I used to pray to you for blessings.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way. Do you know how irritating it is for you mortals to siphon off my power constantly for those blessings? Like ticks on a nix-hound.” Vehk sighed and produced from Azura-knows-where a bottle of wax, which he began to methodically comb into his ponytail. “Gods, I missed having hair.”

“It objectively looks awful. Please go back to being bald.”

Vehk sniffed, suddenly haughty. “You have no taste. Hundreds of years ago this was in high fashion. Now, _your_ hair, on the other hand…”

“Usually, I'm a little too busy fighting off the forces of evil to care that much about my hair.”

“Yes, the tragedies of being a Hero. I always much preferred being a god. Doesn't it get boring at times, just being endlessly told what to do, going on inane quests, the like? As a god I could mindlessly kill any one of my followers and they’d _still_ love me.”

“Gods aren't that much better. Most of them, anyway. The ones who don't try to have Heroes murdered.” The Incarnate shot Vehk a nasty look. “Haven't you heard that Altmeri saying? ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’?”

“Most gods aren't me, Nerevarine…” Vehk’s eyes glinted. “You'll come to see what that means on this adventure.”

“But what does that have to do with you taking me to shovel muck on a field?” the Nerevarine burst out. “It’s not like we even helped the farmer. I’m pretty sure he’s worse off now.”

“Well, I could have killed him. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been the first farmer I killed, or even the first Bosmer farmer living in Morrowind I killed. Sparing him, on my part, is doing him a favor. Hence, amends made. Besides, it was an excellent and poetic metaphor for the knowledge I bestowed upon you today. You do remember what I said, right?”

“Something about submission. Life is full of obstacles. Right?”

“Exactly!” Vehk replied, pleased. “Meditate on that for a time. It will take us a few days on foot to reach Suran. I hope you’re ready for the next amend.”


	3. "Spear-Shaped Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 dumb gay and 1 dumb gay who thinks hes smarter than he really is walk into a bar

    “Why am I not surprised?” the Nerevarine grumbled when he saw the sign. _Desele’s House of Earthly Delights_. It appeared that some patrons had taken the liberty to leave small reminders of their visits, namely by crudely etching certain obscene images of all colors and sizes into the shabby paintwork.

    “Oh, have you been here before?” Vehk asked innocently. The tips of the Nerevarine’s ears turned red, and he made no further comment. “As you may know, when I was younger, I went on many rampages of sex and murder. This had the unintended consequence of putting many of these establishments out of business. Tonight we’ll be making amends by giving this lovely place our custom.”

    “I suppose it’s better than shoveling muck,” the Incarnate conceded, and they went inside.

    The dancers were equally beautiful and unclothed. There were already a few drunken customers staring agog at the women. Vehk counted a Breton, a Khajiit, and, surprisingly, an Altmer. He’d always thought the elves of Summerset to be too prudish for such things; it was nice to know that not all of them were so irritatingly prim.

    Vehk ordered sujamma for both himself and his partner, then turned on his stool so he was facing the Nerevarine. Nonchalantly placing his legs on the Nerevarine’s lap, which made his nostrils flare, he began.

    “I’ll teach you a bit of a lesson now, because I’m going to make sure you’re too drunk to remember it if I were to tell you a few hours later. These dancers, and the so-called _earthly delights_ they provide you, are in the grand scheme of things inconsequential.

If you place a Magus- my late brother Seht, for example- next to one of these fine women, which one do you think will have more profound insight into the machinations of the universe? Unless a Daedric Prince, or someone of a similar make, is moonlighting as a stripper, I believe the answer is obvious. They are the false dream, the dream within an all-encompassing dream, meant to distract and cloud the brain with simple pleasures.

    The Aurbis, where we live, works in such a way. It is only a dream. Certainly, your achievements are many, Nerevarine, and laudable. But someday you will die and all your ideals and truths shall similarly be washed away in the sea of time. Such is the tragedy of mortality, the tragedy first wrought onto the Ehlnofey and that which has been inherited by us.

Nirn is terribly real and superficial at the same time. It is the metaphysics of the thing you must come to understand, dear Incarnate, and this will take years in the making. For now, know this: The world is, and yet is not. It is the false dream that we all must suffer through. And until you may break free you are doomed to continue this accursed, blessed mortal life.”

    “But you weren’t bound to that fate when you were a god?” The Dunmer’s brow was wrinkled. It really was adorable how hard he was thinking. “I don’t understand.”

    “I don’t expect you to. The answer is yes, and no. Certainly I was a god, capable of many great and terrible things. But knowledge and power are both the same and yet different. One can be powerful and yet lack any meaningful knowledge. Sweet sister Ayem may have been saved if only her mind had not been clouded by fear and instead bestowed with the secrets which I whisper to you now.”   

The Dark Elf frowned. “You’re making even less sense. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

    “Think about it,” Vehk responded loftily. “Now I must be off. There are several patrons and strippers here who urgently require my assistance.” He pointed towards his belt and winked.

“You didn’t need to do that, I already understood your terrible innuendo,” the Nerevarine called after him, but Vehk had already lost himself in the crowd.

By the time Vehk had returned with his latest lover, the Nerevarine seemed surprisingly tipsy. He was laughing with one of the strippers, who had her hand on his bicep. Vehk watched in mild surprise as the stripper kissed him on the cheek, which only made him laugh harder. After a few whispered words, she flitted away, bottle of flin in hand. The Nerevarine evidently was not the wisest spender when under the influence.   

“Oh, Vivec!” The Hero turned to him. “Oh, shit, I’m not supposed to say that am I? That’s just his nickname,” he slurred to Vehk’s new lover, one of the many patrons of the strip club, who’d seated himself across from the Nerevarine.

“A god’s name for a nickname!” The Redguard patron pulled Vehk onto his lap, thick rough fingers running along Vehk’s chest. “What about you makes you worthy of such a nickname, Dunmer?”

“It’s my-”

“Personality,” the Nerevarine interrupted. “They’re both-” he belched- “arrogant pricks.” He smirked lopsidedly at Vehk.

The Redguard laughed uproariously. “So suckri- secri-”   

“Sacrilegious,” Vehk supplanted, and shot the Nerevarine an annoyed look, which only seemed to heighten his amusement.

“Yeah! So sacrilegious. I fuckin’ love it.” He turned to give Vehk an openmouthed kiss. He smelled of spiced greef and, beneath that, a scent that reminded Vehk vaguely of bittergreen. When Vehk surfaced, he noted with triumph that the Nerevarine was eyeing them with distaste and, hopefully, a hint of jealousy.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the strippers here as much as we’ve been enjoying them,” Vehk observed. “Perhaps you’d prefer if they were male?”

“Actually, I’d prefer if you’d shut up.”    

The Redguard and Vehk both laughed. “Well, anyway, I’ll be off. You guys are a riot, and you-” the Redguard poked Vehk in the chest- “are really hot. I’ll definitely see you again sometime.”

“Certainly,” Vehk promise-lied. With considerable swagger, the Redguard sauntered off. He then turned to the Nerevarine, who was in the process of draining what appeared to be his sixth bottle of sujamma. “Enjoying the liquor?”

“Yeah. And the women. And plenty of the men, too, not going to lie. Lots of things to enjoy in this place.”

“Am I one of them?” Vehk sipped the greef he’d fingered out of the Redguard’s bag when the man wasn’t looking.

“Why don’t you find out?” the Dunmer dared, eyes blazing. With a sudden burst of inspiration, Vehk leaned across the table, and wasn’t disappointed when the Nerevarine leaned forward to meet him halfway.  

A few short moments, or perhaps hours later, Vehk was pulling the Nerevarine to an upstairs room. A wave of his hand towards the door to ensure nobody would be interrupting them. The little clothes they had on quickly ripped off. Slender fingers starting from the chest tracing down, down, down. The Nerevarine’s sweat-soaked hair was in his eyes. Vehk told him it was cute. He replied by telling him to shut up.

It didn’t take long before they’d finished what they’d started. Vehk was surprisingly tired and was content with relaxing, his body spread across the Nerevarine’s. The Nerevarine breathed deeply. The air felt cool on their too-hot skin. The poet began to trace little patterns on the Hero’s chest, enjoying the feeling of heated skin beneath his fingertips. The alcohol in Vehk’s blood made his thoughts give over to a warm fuzz, and he was quite content with thinking about nothing, until the Nerevarine suddenly spoke.

“Did you ever… with Nerevar? I know you did with Almalexia, and probably Sotha Sil, but…”

Vehk’s lips touched the Dunmer’s jaw, almost lovingly. “Ayem and Seht were mine to take. We were meant for each other.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Does it matter? It’s not like you’ll remember my answer come morning.”

“You might be surprised,” the Hero mumbled sleepily. Vehk laughed. He rolled off the bed carefully, as to not disturb his partner too much, and headed downstairs.

 

-

 

By morning, Vehk had returned, along with freshwater and comberry bread. The Nerevarine was where he’d left him, head in his hands. He hadn’t deigned to put his shirt back on, and Vehk noticed with a great deal of pride the marks he’d left behind last night.  

    When Vehk entered, the Nerevarine groaned loudly. “I can’t believe I had drunk sex with a god.”

    Vehk smirked at him and fed him a piece of bread. “If it helps, I was very good apparently. You didn’t last very long.”

    “Fuck you.” The Incarnate reluctantly took the water.

    “Already did. Though to be fair, neither of us were sober. Maybe you’d like to give it another go without the influence of toxic levels of sujamma?”

    The completely bald-faced proposition seemed to stun the Incarnate for a bit. “Well… I don’t have anything to lose anymore, do I?” he mused. “Clearly I’ve lost any shred of dignity. Besides, if I’m going to have sex with Lord Vivec, Ruler of Morrowind- Gods, that is such a weird concept- I might as well have a story to tell about it.”

    “That’s the spirit,” Vehk enthused, taking a bite of bread.

“Don’t you have more amends to make, though? Or was this all just a dastardly plan to get me in bed with you?”

    “Of course, sweetheart.” The Nerevarine made a face at the pet name, which caused Vehk to snicker. “But I’ll want you to keep your strength up, so we can take it easy for a while. It’s a long way to the Velothi Mountains from here. I hope you enjoy murder as much as I do!”


	4. "Reach Heaven By Violence"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hate writing smut so catch me writing unnecessarily gratuitous violence instead lmao

The thing about mountaineering, particularly regarding the obnoxiously snow-covered mountains surrounding Skyrim, was that it usually took far longer to navigate the mountains themselves than it did to actually reach said mountains, even when both mountaineers are capable of levitation and are among the most powerful beings in all of existence.

Along the way, Vehk had procured for himself an absolutely fabulous fox-fur coat, dyed in every color of the rainbow, as well as fashionably black netch-leather boots. He’d suggested similar attire for the Nerevarine- “It’s going to be cold up there, you know!”- which the Nerevarine replied to with such a loud and emphatic refusal that half the town stopped to stare at them curiously.

Now that they had reached the mountains, the Incarnate’s lips were tinged a darker blue, and he appeared to be violently repressing his shivering. 

Vehk, despite only wearing the foxfur coat and very little else, was completely fine, however. “You should’ve listened to me. Tch. That cave-bear pelt wonderfully complemented your hair.”

“As I’ve said, I would literally rather freeze to death than ever put that thing on. Remind me again why we’re going to this Oblivion-cursed place anyway? There are plenty of other Daedric worshippers to murder in warmer-” he sneezed- “climates.”

“Ah yes. But there are multiple reasons as to why we’re traveling to Molag Bal’s largest compound of worshippers instead of just picking off a few deluded mages here and there. First of all, I’m relatively certain that you and I are the only ones who are generally aware that this place exists, because I only learned of its existence while meditating a few years ago. It took quite a bit of focus to break the protective wards they’d placed around it, too. Nobody else would be arsed to look for a place like this. So eliminating them would be a valuable amend to those whose lives I couldn’t prevent the loss of to Daedric forces. Much more meaningful than if we just killed a few run-of-the-mill worshippers elsewhere.”

“You only gave one reason.” The Hero’s teeth had begun to chatter.

“The second reason is that I have a personal vendetta against this particular Prince, and it gives me enormous pleasure to make his existence slightly more annoying when possible.”

“Weren’t you his lover, or something, for a while? Can’t imagine that would’ve been pleasant.”

“Exactly, that’s why I care. Love and hate, Nerevarine, are two sides of the same septim. Also, these particular worshippers are among the worst of the worst. Their rituals are bloody and horrific and involve dragging little girls from nearby towns and villages to, well,” Vehk made a face. “I don’t think I need to go more in depth than that.”

“Listen, I would love to kill these guys as much as you clearly want to, but how in Oblivion are we going to do that if we can’t fucking find them in the first place?”

“Ah, you spoke too soon. I can sense them nearby.” Vehk floated a little higher. “Yes, I see it. What an ugly structure. Those spires are absolutely tacky. Unsurprising, really. Molag Bal was never known for his taste.”

“Any actually important insight on the inhabitants? I don’t need to know their fashion sense.” The Nerevarine unsheathed Trueflame. 

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I see a few atronachs guarding the entrance. Shouldn’t be an issue. I’m guessing we’ll be finding plenty of battlemages. But, really, you and I have faced much worse.  _ And  _ we’re together. Practically unstoppable, eh?”

“You aren’t a god anymore, though.” The Incarnate set his helm over his head, and his voice was muffled when he continued, “I don’t fancy our chances against some of the tougher Dremora if they bum-rush us.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Vehk batted his eyes. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Now, then, let’s make art.”

As predicted, they made short work of the atronach guards. The Nerevarine only caught a glancing blow to the chest, which he would’ve barely felt if it weren’t infused with powerful frost magic. But Vehk was right behind him, and finished off the atronach with a few words and a flash of Muatra.

The first few rooms were similarly simple. The Molag Bal worshippers clearly were not prepared in any way for an attack. Most of them were only half-clothed in armor when they rushed to meet the once-god and the Hero. Cloaked in lightning, the Nerevarine made for a fearsome figure, mowing down disciple after disciple with a lusty battle cry. But the true spectacle was Vehk, who looked rather like a porcupine with all the arrows suspended in the air around him. His fancy fur coat was now painted with blood, none of it being his own. 

Then they began to meet challenging foes. The followers of Molag Bal had by this point realized what was going on. They made for powerful foes, hefting fantastical Daedric weapons and sporting nigh-impenetrable armor. But none survived the onslaught of Muatra and Trueflame. 

They were really living, now. Everything happened in slowed moments, a result of the adrenaline pumping through their blood. They killed one after another, moving so fast that most of the worshippers only had a chance to get in a few blows. 

It all came to a halt at the last door before the final chamber. The Nerevarine took a knee, gasping for air. His helm had broken in the battle-fury, and blood-matted hair nearly covered his frenzied eyes. 

With the tip of Muatra, Vehk lifted the Hero’s chin up for closer inspection, and tilted his head in surprise. “You’re hurt.” There was a deep gash on the Dunmer’s cheekbone, still spilling blood. 

The Incarnate took a rough swipe at it, his gauntlets staining with his own blood in the process. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”

“No- before we go in-” Vehk concentrated, and then suddenly he was the form of the god-king Vivec, resplendent in blue-gold. “I want them to know  _ exactly  _ who did this.”

The Nerevarine barked out a laugh. He reached a bloody hand out, and Vehk helped him to his feet. Together, they kicked down the door.

It was the toughest room yet. This was clearly the sacrifice room, with a massive altar splattered with old and new blood. They were swarmed by enemies almost immediately. For the majority of the battle, the few glimpses Vehk had of the Nerevarine were of flashes of Trueflame, slicing through foe after foe. Then the Nerevarine turned towards him and for a moment he saw his old captain. Captain Indoril. A dead man’s eyes looking into his face. Vehk couldn’t help but flinch at the sight.

Too long. Vehk heard, rather than saw, the fire spell that had been heading for him, stopped at the last second by the Incarnate jumping in front of him. The force of it was so powerful it slammed the Nerevarine into the floor, where he lay groaning. 

The sight of the Hero that was once his old friend on the ground spurred Vehk into real action. For the first time in the battle, he landed on solid ground, heading straight for the circle of Conjurers that had cast the spell.

           “FUCK you, Molag Bal,” Vehk proclaimed, and then ran through the last of the worshippers with Muatra. And then, silence. The battle was over, seemingly moments after it’d begun. 

The Warrior-Poet turned towards the Nerevarine, who’d pushed himself semi-upright against a wall and was attempting to pull off his smoking armor. Vehk got on his knees to help him out of his armor, piece by piece. There was something ritualistic about the thing. For a few moments they were not a once-god and a Hero, but only brothers-in-arms.

Beneath his armor the Dunmer was a mess, burnt shockingly badly across the chest and abdomen. There was a disarray of cuts criss-crossing his graying skin, and the gash on his face was still weeping blood. Vehk ran his finger along the Hero’s torn-up jaw.

“Let me fix them.” It was less an offer and more an apology. The Incarnate didn’t respond, but one hand came up to touch Vehk’s wrist momentarily, leaving behind a smear of blood. He took it as acceptance. 

“You were pretty stupid to do that. It wasn’t like I was ever in any danger,” Vehk commented, as he ran his hand over every wound. Blue light spilled from his fingers and the wounds all began to slowly re-anneal. 

“I know,” the Nerevarine muttered. He seemed very reluctant to move his jaw in a way to disturb the gash on his cheekbone. The effort of the battle and the consequent healing took not an insignificant toll on Vehk, and he quickly dozed off next to the Hero. 

They woke in murk, for a moment forgetting where they were, until the aches of battle began to set in. Vehk fished out a piece of stale comberry bread and they broke bread in peace. 

“I haven’t gifted you with any knowledge recently, have I?” Vehk spoke suddenly. The Nerevarine was still chewing, gingerly to avoid re-splitting his wound, but he nodded. “Well, further disrespecting the Daedric princes after murdering multitudes of their disciples seems a bit of a moot point. Regardless. 

Our foolhardy cousins the Altmer worship the Aedra and we worship the Daedra, but what our kin fail to realize is that both Aedra and Daedra are terribly limited in a way that we are not. See, the Aedra and Daedra each serve a specific function, whether it’s to regulate the flow of Time or to take revenge for the spurned. This both grants them impossible power and leaves them tragically incapable of reaching beyond what is perceivable. 

We, on the other hand, are gifted with mortality. We are given chance after chance, as we live again and again, to reach beyond for the knowledge that the Aedra and Daedra may never have. But so few of us are able to attain it that it is considered an impossible endeavor. But I have managed it. And, if you are strong enough in mind, you may too. I speak of the secret royal syllable, known since the age of Anu and Padomay. You will find it, if you look hard enough. But that is only the beginning. Yet even the beginning is better than what the vast majority of mortals are able to comprehend. Such is the nature of the Psijic Endeavor.”

The Nerevarine blinked. “Do you mind repeating the last part?” he asked, and immediately winced, hand immediately going to his face. 

Vehk laughed, and bent over. More light spilled from his hands and the sealed cuts disappeared into smooth, new skin. He hummed, pleased with his work, and patted the Dunmer on the cheek.

“I can repeat it to you as many times as you like, sweetheart. We have all the time in the world.”

“Fuck’s sake. You said it again.”

“Said what again.”

“Sweetheart. Azura damn you, I am not your  _ sweetheart. _ No matter how many wounds you heal or how many times we have sex. I swear I will punch you if you say it again.”

“Of course, of course.” Vehk gave him such a self-satisfied smile that the Nerevarine seemed about ready to burst with annoyance. Then, with a sigh of defeat, he returned to chewing on the comberry bread. 

“You know,” the Nerevarine said after some time, “I’m sure some of the worshippers managed to get away. We didn’t do a complete sweep of every room because we were in such a hurry.”

“Probably fled to the west. Maybe even to Markarth. I certainly hope so. I never liked that city.”  

The Nerevarine snorted at that, and then with a huff got to his feet. “They left behind a lot of treasure,” he observed idly, pointing at the numerous chests scattered around in the shrine.

“Excellent,” Vehk proclaimed, immediately jumping up and rifling through the chests. “There’s enough to buy bug-musk and flin to last a Nord to Sovngarde.”

The Incarnate gave him a wry smile. “You know, you got everything you wanted.”

“Hmm?” Vehk was trying on several exquisite rings, turning his bejeweled hands so the jewels would catch the light.

“You said you wanted lovers, gold and Telvanni bug musk. You got them all.” He chuckled lowly. “And then there was me, expecting it would ever go any differently. Are we done adventuring now?”

“Patience, love. There’s still one amend to be made. Are you up for some sightseeing?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an odd time to put this but my actual nerevarine is the patriarch of the temple and would probably be absolutely scandalized by what this nerevarine has been doing to her god


	5. "Singing Echoes"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part (1/2) of the final chapter because this thing's a monster to write.  
> The Nerevarine does something very illegal because Vehk is a terrible influence. Realizations are made. Bad plans go badly.

    “You’ve never been to the Imperial City?” Vehk asked with surprise. They were strolling along the Market District, enjoying the clean sunlight coming down on their backs. “But they always call you _outlander_ in Morrowind. Where _did_ you come from, then?”

    The Nerevarine shrugged. “Never had much of a chance to go any place. I’m young, for an elf, and I wasted away so much time in prison. Wasn’t until I reached Morrowind that I felt really free for the first time. Alive, you know?”

The pair turned on a corner, reaching The Feed Bag. “This place has been owned by Dunmer for centuries,” Vehk explained. “I always stop by here. As a god I would miss eating cheap food like this sometimes.”

Yet again the owner, a fellow named Felen Fandas, had no discernible reaction to seeing a Dark Elf who was unmistakably the Nerevarine sporting hot-pink hair. Vehk offered Fandas a winning smile as they left the store, grapes and bread loaf in hand.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you did that?”

“Did what?”

“Somehow alleviate all suspicion about who I am when I clearly look the exact same? There is no way that pink hair alone is enough to disguise me. People even recognize me when I’m wearing full armor!”

“Oh, yes. Little mind trick. It _was_ funny to have you wear pink hair for absolutely no reason, though.” The Incarnate scowled at him, snatching the grapes from his hand and popping one in his mouth. “Are you ready for your last lesson?”   

“Fire away.”

“Do you see how everyone here is subtly interconnected? Every shop, every tavern, every lowlife skulking in the alleyways… they all breathe life into this district. This concept can be broadened to Tamriel. Mundus. Every Aedra, Daedra, every Rat, Alit, Kagouti… we are all intrinsically connected. But realizing this is a step-by-step process, and each step must be carefully considered.

For now, as a precaution, keep this in mind. ‘I am I, but I am also We, and We are all We.’ Simple enough, isn’t it? But you must find every word’s royal meaning. As you travel you’ll be learning more about this. Take your time, Nerevarine. Don’t hurry this process; it is meant to be slow, painstakingly so. Focus on the beauty of coexistence. Perhaps you will never understand. Perhaps you aren’t meant to. It matters not.

This is my gift to you, Nerevarine. Use it wisely. Don’t be foolish with knowledge; it never ends well.” Vehk let out a long sigh, and then cracked his knuckles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, let’s go break the law.”

“Wait, what?”

But Vehk had already grabbed his hand and was dragging him along to the Green Emperor Way. It wasn’t until the Incarnate dug in his heels and grabbed Vehk by the shoulders that they stopped, dangerously close to running right into an Imperial guard.

“What are you trying to do?” the Nerevarine hissed.

“Nerevar would always tell me how he wanted to touch the tip of the White-Gold Tower someday. Never got a chance to, obviously. This is going to be my last amend. We’re going to levitate up there, invisible, and touch the tip of that tower!”

“Okay, but listen, _I_ don’t want to do that! _He_ might have been all about it, but I’d rather not risk falling a thousand feet for a stupid-ass reason!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vehk retorted. “My plan is foolproof. I thought about it for a very long time. There’s no way anyone is going to get hurt.”

The Dunmer swore, and then with a sigh, acquiesced. Soon, the invisible marauders were floating higher and higher. The Incarnate couldn’t help but marvel at the landscape below him. Huge swathes of green complemented by the busy bustle of the city. The air was cleaner up here as well, with crystal-clear wind whipping across his face as they ascended higher and higher.

“Here, touch it.” Vehk thumped the tower nonchalantly. The Nerevarine reached over, and prodded the very tip of the tower. “There you go, easy enough, wasn’t it?”

“Can we stay up here for a while?” the Nerevarine asked. “I like it up here more than I liked it down there.”

    “Fascinating.” An invisible hand patted the Dark Elf’s knee. “How far can you see up here?”

    “Pretty far. I think… is that Skyrim, over there? So much snow. Gods. I pity whichever Hero crops up there.”   

    Vehk laughed, the winds carrying the sound. “Do you want to know something? I can see so far from up here, I can see the future.”

    “Oh yeah? What do you see?”

    “That’s a secret, of course.” The Nerevarine rolled his eyes, but smiled nevertheless. Together they ate the last of their grapes, suspended above the world, for a little while outside of the bustling world below them.

    “Tell me about Nerevar,” the Hero requested after a time. He sucked grape juice from his fingers, contentment written on every line of his face.

    Vehk didn’t say anything at first, reminiscing.

“He was a good mer,” he said, finally. “He loved comberry bread and flin. Loved animals too, especially silt striders. Tended to be a little grumpy in the mornings, but he had an amazing laugh. It could brighten up your whole day. He was the kind of person to give everyone a second chance. A third, too, if he liked you.”

    “I prefer sujamma,” the Nerevarine commented lightly.

    “I know, how sacrilegious. Truly, you’re a false Incarnate based on that alone.” Vehk leaned back, head falling on the Incarnate’s lap, who surprisingly didn’t protest. “He was a good mer,” he repeated, as if it were an afterthought. “He shouldn’t have died the way he did.”

    “Vivec.” Vehk didn’t respond, lost in a reverie. “Vivec. Vivec.” There was a note of urgency in his voice now.

    “What? What do you want?” Vehk retorted, irritated at being interrupted.

    “We’re falling.” The Incarnate was attempting to use the Slow Fall spell, but it kept sparking out in his hands. “Fuck, Vivec, we’re falling!”

    “Calm down,” Vehk replied casually. “I just need to top up the Levitate spell.” But he had forgotten that he’d become mortal and had lost access to the godly reserves of power he’d once had, and swore loudly as the spell fizzled out in his hands. They plummeted toward the ground, screaming.

When it was almost too late for them, the Nerevarine finally successfully cast a Slow Fall, and grabbed Vehk by the wrist. They were still about fifty feet in the air. The Incarnate’s face was red with effort from keeping them both in the air, but he refused to let go of Vehk’s wrist. They could hear people rushing to gather below them, gawking, yelling.

Then the Nerevarine’s spell gave way, and they hit the ground. Hard. Bones crunched. They were quickly surrounded by guards. It was only then that the Nerevarine realized the Invisibility spell Vehk had cast must have evaporated at some point a while ago.

“You’re under arrest for trespassing,” the guard closest to them boomed. Neither of them bothered resisting arrest; the shock of the impact seemed to have given the Nerevarine a concussion, while Vehk himself felt cloudy and distant.

The guard yanked him to his feet and he gasped at the pain. An agonizing reminder of his new-found mortality. The guards kicked him, and abruptly the pain became overwhelming. Everything quickly faded to black.


	6. "Singing Echoes" (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The physical and emotional conclusion to the misadventure,  
> aka cute gay couple goes on a date to Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry about the terrible pacing of this bitch adfsdfsdf i tried my best

    The jail was cramped and smelled like shit. Vehk said so, and the Incarnate only glared at him in response. They’d been placed in the same cell. Vehk had been tending to his wounds, while the Nerevarine sat in the corner, head in hands.

    “You…are…. a top-grade asshole,” the Nerevarine finally said, savoring particularly the last word.

Vehk smiled painfully, massaging his newly healed ribs. “Use Dunmeri, outlander. The proper term is s’wit.”

“How in Oblivion did you survive that anyway? I landed on top of you, and maybe Vivec- the one with the six-pack and huge biceps- could’ve shrugged that off, but a skinny sneak thief like you definitely couldn’t.”

“As I’ve said, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Besides, you should be grateful anyhow. Had I not taken the brunt of the blow for your unreasonably bulky form, it’d be you with the broken ribs and fractured jaw.”

“First of all, I wouldn’t even have been in that situation in the first place if it weren’t for your horrible excuse of a plan-” But Vehk had approached him, and now put his finger lightly on his lips.

“Shh. No need for any mudslinging. Let me take a look at that head injury.” He placed his hands on the Nerevarine’s sweat-stained head and focused for a moment. The Incarnate let out a long sigh through his nose as the healing took effect. “Now let’s see about breaking out of  this filthy cell, eh?”

“Huh? Is that- who was that?” A sluggish-sounding, familiar voice boomed from the cell next to them. “Wait… Vivec?”

“Oh.” Vehk scratched his head. That was the Redguard he’d met at the strip club; he was fairly certain of it. Or perhaps not. “Er, hello.”

“You remember me, right? You remember my name?” the Redguard pressed, hopefully.

“Ah. Yes. Of course I do.” A grimace was affixed to his face. The Nerevarine let out a very poorly disguised chuckle.

“Funny how these things work out, isn’t it? That after two months we’d just happen to be thrown in the same jail. Where are you heading afterward? Perhaps we could… travel together?”

At Vehk’s expression upon hearing that, the Hero collapsed into a helpless fit of laughter. Steadfastly ignoring him, Vehk replied in a faux-charming tone, “I’ll definitely consider it. But first we need to get out of this prison, right? We’d most definitely appreciate your help.”

“Sure. Anything to help you out.” The Redguard began to try and pick the lock, cursing when his only lockpick broke.

With a bemused smile, Vehk opened the door with a flourish of his hand and a powerful lockpick spell. “Let me get that for you,” he offered, and easily opened the Redguard’s cell as well. “Now, listen closely. The third door from the left leads upstairs to an area that should be lightly guarded. The evidence chest is in there. Loot all of our belongings and return to me. Keep it simple and stupid.”

“Remind me how you know any of this stuff?” the Nerevarine called from inside the cell.

“On my many irritatingly boring diplomatic missions to this city, I may or may not have taken a few, ah, strolls. Besides, it’s doing us a favor now, isn’t it?” Vehk spread his hands magnanimously. The Nerevarine let out a very protracted sigh.

When the Redguard was out of sight, he returned to the cell and closed the door neatly. “Until he gets back, let’s just stay in here. I don’t fully trust his capabilities, to put it nicely. If he gets caught, which, honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if he does, we have an excellent alibi.”

“Which is?”

Vehk looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “I was too busy having my way with you to possibly get involved.”

“We’re in a _prison._ ”

“All the more reason to do it.”

The Redguard spared the Nerevarine from further argument by returning, carrying the Nerevarine’s armor, Trueflame, and Vehk’s assorted cornucopia of items. He set everything down in front of the cell with a loud clunk. Vehk winced at the sound, but made no comment. The pair quickly recovered their equipment and got to their feet together.

“Thanks,” the Incarnate gruffly said to the Redguard, who nodded in acknowledgement. He then turned to Vehk. “So. Now what, Vivec? I hope you don’t expect us to fight our way through an entire Imperial garrison. Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.”

Vehk laughed him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously, I could easily handle an entire Imperial garrison while you just sat on your thumbs, but I tire of killing. Anyhow, there’s a much easier way to leave. If I do remember correctly, this prison will lead us to the sewers, which in turn will lead us safely out of harm’s way.”

“Amazing!” the Redguard proclaimed, smiling fondly at Vehk. “It’s rare to see such a combo of brains and beauty.”

“I know, right?” Vehk replied, preening. The Nerevarine elbowed him. “Ah, but, I still have yet to fully _thank_ you, if you catch my drift.” With that, he took the Redguard by the arm and disappeared behind a door. Around a minute later, just when the Nerevarine was deeply considering abandoning them, Vehk emerged, a little sweaty and flushed, dusting off his hands. The Redguard’s body slumped behind him.

“What the fuck? Did you kill him??”

“No, no. Who do you take me for, some kind of vicious murderer? I merely put him under a Sleep spell. Should last us long enough to get out of here before he wakes up.”

“I do, actually, take you for a vicious murderer.”

Vehk rolled his eyes at that and grasped the Nerevarine’s hand, leading him forward through the maze of tunnels. They said little at first, nervous about being caught. But Vehk quickly relaxed, and even took to humming a dainty tune, levitating next to the Nerevarine.

“I’m surprised at how few guards there are in this place,” the Dunmer remarked after a while, in a cautiously lowered voice.

“Well, after this escape, I’m sure that’ll change. But that’s a challenge for a different Hero to undertake.” Vehk smiled mysteriously, then abruptly turned his head as if sensing something. “Excellent, we’re near the docks. How uneventful. I almost regret not taking on that garrison now.”

“I still don’t get how you’re so… flippant about being mortal. How are you so comfortable with almost dying?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” Vehk deflected instantly. “You risk your neck time and time again for an eternally thankless populace.”

The Dunmer growled. “Not anymore, I won’t. You’re a god- you don’t get it since everyone loves you- but some of the guards around Balmora and Ald-ruhn _still_ get suspicious around me because I stole a few things ages ago. I’m the Nerevarine, for Azura’s sake!”

The former god’s eyes glittered. “Is that your only reason?”

“No.” The Nerevarine sighed, taking off his helmet. “It’s also ‘cause I’m just so _tired._ It’s like they ask everything from me. And I give them what they want. Over and over. I give them everything I have until there’s nothing left of me. And they still want more. I’m just so tired of it…”

    “You don’t even know what tired is. I’ve been alive so long I’ve forgotten how to live.” In the nineteen year old mer’s face the Incarnate saw thousands of years of written and unwritten history superimposed over a pretty face. “You say you gave them everything you have, but you haven’t the faintest clue what giving even means. I have been made and unmade so many times that the Vivec I once knew was no more long before your forefather’s forefather was born.”

    “But you chose that life. You made the choice to become a god. I’ve heard the stories,” the Nerevarine shot back, accusingly. “I never had that choice. I was forced into this!”

    “I am so sick and tired of this _lie_ that you Heroes keep telling themselves. You wanted this life. Just as how someone bearing my name and this body wanted to become a god, once. He took the opportunity to become great. So did you. You had a choice to walk away. You always had a choice. And that makes us more alike than you realize.”

    The Nerevarine opened his mouth to protest, but Vehk forged on. “And what’s more, you were planning to abandon Morrowind to flee to Akavir. You serve your self-interests as much as I do.”

    The Hero bristled. “Are you calling me a coward?”

    “Maybe I am,” the former god shot back. “What of it?”

    With a shout, the Dunmer threw a punch at Vehk, who caught his fist, absorbing the blow with little effort. Staring deep into the Hero’s fiery eyes, Vehk slowly forced his fist down, and then pulled the Hero close to catch his other fist in his other hand.

    “Let me finish before you start attacking me like a drunken orc,” Vehk continued, lips by the Hero’s ear. “There is nothing wrong with being a coward every once in a while. People who know no fear die early, like poor Nerevar. So free yourself of your burdens. Let go. There is no shame in it. It is what I am planning to do as well.”

    “I know,” the Nerevarine responded, defeated. He didn’t break free of Vehk’s grasp. “But I’m not a coward. Don’t ever call me that again. I’m not running away. There’ll be other Heroes to take my place. I’m just… retiring. Escaping the influence of everyone telling me what to do. I just want to be free.”

    “I understand,” Vehk murmured. He broke his hold on the Dunmer, leading him a little ways to the left where there was a trapdoor. Hints of light shone through the door, which Vehk flung open, proffering a hand to his partner. “Shall we?” The former Hero took his hand, and together they came up into the light.

    The docks were a little chilly from the sea-breeze, and Vehk took to leaning against the Dunmer as they sat, feet just barely touching the water. The sun shone brightly, turning the waves into a million diamonds glittering from where their feet touched to the ends of the Aurbis.

    “Beautiful, isn’t it? I shall miss it.” Vehk sighed. “One of the few good things about Cyrodiil, really.”

    “Then where are you gonna go, now?” the Dunmer asked curiously. “Are you leaving Tamriel?”

    “Oh, neither here nor there. Maybe I’ll stop by Aetherius.” The Dark Elf frowned at that, watching Vehk’s face for a hint of facetiousness, but Vehk was surprisingly keeping an entirely straight face. “Plenty of places to spend time in that I haven’t visited yet. I’m excited, to be honest.”

    “And you’re leaving for the same reason I am? Because you’re tired?”

“You should know by now that I don’t do anything for any one reason,” Vehk chided. “I know you think lowly of me, but I do care about Morrowind. That’s why I have to go. The Dunmer have grown fat and languid. They have forgotten their roots. With the Tribunal no longer there to protect them, they will learn the meaning of suffering again. They will be reborn, anew, free from the mental corruption that has taken them in a chokehold. And in the next age, they will rebuild, stronger than ever before. But I must go in order to precipitate this process. Only with great loss will our people remember what it means to be great.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t think lowly of you.” The Dunmer turned his head to face Vehk. “We all fuck up. You fucked up more than pretty much everyone who isn’t downright evil. But it’s okay. I understand. I forgive you.”

At his words, Vehk’s expression, illuminated by sunlight, was unlike any that the Nerevarine had seen. It was free of his usual guile. It was the face of a mer who had been carrying a terrible burden for his entire life being relieved of it all at once.

Then Vehk turned to watch the waves, briefly squeezing his partner’s hand as he did so. “So what are your plans now? Still heading to Akavir, serjo?”

“Maybe. I guess I’ll have to see how it goes.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Hey- I always wondered what happened to Sotha Sil. And Almalexia, after I, uh, killed her. Where are they?”

“Seht and Ayem spend eternity in Moonshadow by Azura’s side. They have been forgiven for any and all transgressions, and their after-lives are filled with unending joy and peace. They will never know war or strife again; they will rest for ever.”

The Nerevarine’s brow furrowed, and he squinted suspiciously at Vehk. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he complained. “Azura cursed you three. She would never forgive them of anything. This doesn’t sound real. Are you pulling my leg?”

“Of course it doesn’t make any sense, but why on Tamriel does that mean it can’t be real?” Vehk responded, with an inscrutable grin. The Nerevarine couldn’t help but laugh, perplexed, and then Vehk started to laugh too. They laughed for far longer than they had any right to, as if they had been holding it all in for years and years.

Once the mirth had died down, the Nerevarine turned to Vehk once again. “Will I see you again?”

Vehk simply shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see how it goes, eh?” And with that, he vanished, leaving the Nerevarine alone sitting on the docks.

The sun was setting, radiating a quiet orange across the horizon. And, somehow, everything was a little bit more beautiful than it had ever been.

 


End file.
